


Dirt in the Carpet

by elphiemolizbethbau



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23888317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elphiemolizbethbau/pseuds/elphiemolizbethbau
Summary: "Man, you're like a vacuum cleaner, Liv." OR The Rollins family and the Benson family spend some quality time together after the events of episode 21x19 "Solving for the Unknowns", and the two officers have a long overdue conversation about the events of the past year. Will be a three-parter. Has nothing to do with my other SVU stories. Amanda/ Olivia friendship. Trigger warnings inside.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thank you so much for your comments and follows! I really appreciate all of you! Please feel free to drop a comment and let me know what you like about this story or any other thoughts you may have. If you would like to connect via social media, my Instagram/twitter is faceinbud.  
> Here is a post episode 21x19 "Solving for the Unknowns" story with some Amanda/Olivia friendship, family fluff, and a touch of hurt/comfort. Note: In this story, Amanda has custody of Mason. This story has nothing to do with my other multi-chapter Rolivia stories.  
> I need to add both a disclaimer that I do not own SVU or its characters and a trigger warning for non-detailed discussion of kidnapping and rape.

Dirt in the Carpet

"Hey." As they re-entered the parking lot of Piper Hill's apartment complex, Captain Benson turned to her detective—now second grade—and gestured for her to stop her pursuit of her Jeep. "Can I buy you that drink we never got to have?"

"Oh, Liv, I got a sitter on the clock again." Amanda beckoned towards her car, bouncing on her toes, just aching to make a run for her getaway vehicle. After a case like this, she just wanted to go home, tuck all three babies in, four if she included Frannie, and take a scorching hot shower to wash off the grime of the day.

Olivia wasn't going to give up so easily, however. She'd promised her subordinate—and friend—a modest celebration of her promotion, and it wasn't often the SVU captain actually got to make good on her promises. The least she could do is take some pressure off the other woman's evening. They were both single mothers, hardworking officers, and good people. Olivia often found herself thinking that Rollins deserved a break. "Okay, well how about you grab Mason and the girls--Frannie too--and come have dinner with me and Noah?"

"Well," Amanda acknowledged with an extended shrug, realizing that if she were to decline the offer, she'd have to lie to her boss, something she tried not to do as a general rule. Or she could tell the truth—that she was an anxious mess—but that seemed even less astute. So, it left her with accepting the invitation as her only option, which the more she thought about, didn't sound half bad. Noah and Jesse hadn't had a play date in quite a while, and Amanda was in desperate need of spending some time with someone who didn't require a plea deal in order to go to bed at night. (As in, "If you go to bed now, tomorrow we can have ice cream after dinner." Jesse had since decided that she no longer liked ice cream, but Mason was a quitter and usually ended up fast asleep by the time Amanda finished her sentence.)

"It doesn't have to be a big deal," Benson argued, sensing a rejection coming her way. "I'll order some pizza, I can put on Frozen for the kids, maybe we can discuss something other than…." She trailed off, gesturing vaguely with animated hands. "Amanda, it's been forever," was Olivia's closing statement, one last attempt to appeal to the blonde as a friend, knowing the detective's cold exterior was melting.

"It has been a while," the woman conceded, nodding. "Okay, that sounds good, Liv. Thank you." She pressed the unlock button on her key fob, her bouncing toes ready for takeoff. Maybe she could get in a quick shower before sending Sienna home.

"Oh, and Amanda?" the brunette called over her own car, both women preparing to enter their vehicles.

The detective opened a red door, holding it as she addressed Benson. "Yeah, Cap?"

"Bring the kids' pajamas."

When they arrived at the correct apartment, Amanda pulled the diaper bag further onto her her shoulder, placing the hand that wasn't holding Billie's car seat on top of her other daughter's blonde head. "Alright, go ahead," she said to Jesse, whose new favorite pastime was knocking on doors.

Several seconds of incessant knocking later—which had been joined in on by Mason, who wanted to do everything like his older cousin—the Rollins family heard Olivia's voice from inside. "It's open!"  
It's open? Amanda thought to herself as she opened the door. That's not a safe thing to do. What if I wasn't me? What if I was—No. The detective chastised herself, shaking her head. There was no reason to ruin a perfectly good (light-hearted) evening with…SVU talk.

"Jesse!"

"Noah!"

Within seconds, the two were wrapped around each other in a Benson/Rollins swirl, Mason and Frannie eagerly joining in as Amanda stretched sore muscles, shifting Billie to her other hand

"Here, let me take that," Olivia insisted, taking the baby's diaper bag off the blonde's hands, placing it gingerly on the floor by her living room couch. She wordlessly invited Rollins to sit, outstretching her arms towards Billie. It had been too long since she'd seen the babbling infant. "What kind of pizza do Jesse and Mason like?"

Said children were tumbling on the floor with Noah, already saving someone—a princess?—from a bad guy—a Hans action figure? Amanda made a mental note to teach these kids better games. "Mason likes cheese. Jesse is weird; she likes mushrooms and olives—What?" the confused detective interrupted herself at her captain's wide-eyed look.

Olivia leaned in and whispered quickly, as if she were sharing state secrets, "Don't say the 'O' word in front of Noah."

"Oh," the younger of the two mouthed, eyes lighting up in realization. Both women turned to the little boy, hoping he hadn't heard. Thankfully, he was too busy getting a speech from Jesse about how "princesses can save themselves from bad guys too, No-uhhh."

Amanda shook her head fondly at the commotion, grateful she'd given in to Benson's not-quite begging. "Just cheese is fine then." She pulled her phone from her pocket. "Let me do it," she said, frantically hitting buttons just as Olivia put her ringing cell to her ear.

"Liv, I—" she began to protest, being cut off by the older woman holding a pointer finger to her lips.

"Shh, I'm on the phone," she scolded jokingly, succeeding in her attempt to prevent the blonde from insisting she pay for their meal.

After they'd eaten, Jesse taking a break from pizza in order to belt the entirety of "Let It Go" into one of her crusts, Olivia suggested to the kids that they have a sleepover. Amanda wasn't surprised; the captain had instructed her to bring the kids sleeping clothes. But for some reason, she was a little surprised that upon her lament at not bringing adult-sized pajamas with her, the always-prepared cop offered up some of her own.

Quickly, once baths were finished, Jesse offered to show Noah "how a real princess builds a fort—it doesn't even need a knight!" And the three little ones scampered off giddily into Noah's bedroom, Rollins following quickly behind in order to ensure they actually went to sleep. Liv was happy to rock Billie in her car seat, the baby sleeping soundly after absolutely demolishing a delectable meal of strained peas and bananas.

When Amanda eventually exited the bedroom, Benson held up a can in offering. "You drink beer, right?"

The detective plopped herself down on the couch next to Olivia, sighing heavily as she took the beverage from her captain. Tonight seemed like a cheap beer kind of night. "Yeah, why not?"

Semi-awkward chatter began between the two women—"Have you heard from Kim?", "How's Cassidy been?", "Kat reminds me of you", "Carisi's been on edge"—but eventually, Olivia sat up further, running her hands nervously down the smooth fabric covering her thighs. Amanda felt it the moment "Liv" was turned off and "Captain Benson" was turned on. Here it comes.

"Have you gone back to therapy since...?" The unspoken ending to the question lingered uncomfortably in the air. Besides being completely exhausted and the night-time bringing on the type of anxiety she didn't wish to share with Olivia, the other reason she had wanted to avoid this type of socialization with her captain is that the two women hadn't properly hung out in a non-professional setting since her abduction, and there would no-doubt be questions. Honestly, Rollins was pleasantly surprised that her supervisor had been able to wait until all was quiet in the apartment before starting in on the third degree.

Amanda knew the brunette was expecting an unequivocal "no," but the detective wasn't ready to make such an explicit admission. "To have a flashback during therapy? C'mon Liv, not even you could think that's actually a good idea." Guilt washed over her at the involuntary grimace that momentarily marred Olivia's normally stoic features. "Sorry, I didn't mean that as an insult."

"I know." Olivia was aware of the blonde's complicated history with seeing a therapist, and even though she'd been trying for years to get her subordinate to regularly meet with a mental health professional, obviously Bucci's actions while Amanda was in Dr. Hanover's office weren't going to help her cause.

"No, really, I'm sorry, Liv. I lash out and get defensive when I feel vulnerable."

"That's understandable, Amanda. Vulnerability hasn't always been your friend." Why did the Benson-level empathy hurt? Amanda wasn't deserving of this type of compassion. She wasn't special; she wasn't entitled to anything more than anyone else was. And after living in this world for nearly forty years, Rollins had learned that what she was entitled to was exactly nothing. "You haven't always gotten a positive outcome from opening up. You suffered a major trauma—no doubt while you were discussing another major trauma. No one questions the significance of that."  
Olivia observed her most senior detective gazing off into the distance as she spoke, silence settling in around them for a few moments, the pregnant quiet charged with a certain uneasiness before the blonde muttered several—seemingly—unrelated words. "Sometimes I wonder what it's like."

"What what's like?"

"Knowing the person who hurt you is going away," Amanda answered, turning slightly towards the woman she'd like to see as a confidant. "That there's at least a little justice. I mean, do these women we notified tonight actually feel any safer? I can't imagine that I would."

"You're not talking about Bucci anymore." It wasn't a question. Both women knew Frank Bucci was in Rikers, awaiting trial, or—if his attorney was smart—a plea deal. But there was someone else who hurt Rollins, someone who caused irrevocable harm to her psyche, who would never have to live in the same prison she did each day.

"Maybe I do need to go back to therapy." She released a singular chuckle, but it held no humor. When her boss said nothing, the blonde took a sizable gulp from her can to fill the silence, swirling the amber liquid around on her tongue as if she was drinking something classier than Pabst Blue Ribbon. Her sock-cladded feet absently rubbed themselves against the beige carpet below them as the seconds ticked by, Billie's gentle breathing and Frannie's snores the only sounds in the room. "Man, you're like a vacuum cleaner, Liv."

"I don't follow." Being an SVU detective for more than two decades, Olivia was used to keeping track of less than linear narratives, but this statement was enough to puzzle her.  
Amanda kept her eyes glued to the floor beneath them, noticing how her off-white socks matched the off-white carpet. "Suckin' up the dirt out of the carpet of my life."

The brunette leaned forward again, gently taking the almost empty beer can from Amanda's icy fingers. Maybe she should stay relatively sober for this conversation. "Okay….Can you tell me more?"

Amanda almost laughed at how easy Olivia switched into investigator mode, with the soft voice and kind dominance over the conversation. She would have laughed, actually, if it hadn't been so unnerving. "You make me talk. With your you-ness. You know that, Liv." She clicked her tongue when the older woman waited for her to continue. Alright, maybe she had to be more direct. "The things that happened to me—they're dirt. I—" she gestured with both hands to herself "—am the carpet. You—" She pointed at Olivia, feeling absolutely foolish pantomiming a vacuum cleaner roving over the carpet in her boss's apartment. "You—vroom, vroom—are the vacuum cleaner." Benson was obviously fighting a losing battle with herself, trying but not succeeding at resisting the manic laugher creeping up her throat. But Amanda had started this ridiculous story, and now she had to finish it. "You suck the dirt out of me. Gently and with compassion, granted—" One last defeated shrug, and then, "—but yeah." A sheepish smile turned the corners of her lips upwards as she painstakingly waited for Liv to react—at all.

"That may be," Olivia inhaled deeply, "the most…creative metaphor I've ever heard."

Both women erupted into a fit of giggles, the release of tension needed after the drama of the past several days. "Yeah, good thing I decided to be a cop. Wouldn't have succeeded in poetry, I don't think."

As quickly as the laughter had started, it ended, Olivia scooting even closer to the detective that was almost achieving her goal of keeping their conversation far away from what they actually needed to discuss. "You know, Rollins, I hear you say it to survivors all the time, and sometimes I wonder if you ever take a moment to listen to yourself speak. Holding all the negativity in—the trauma, the abuse, what have you—just allows it to fester. Healing happens when you talk to someone who understands. And Amanda—"

The blonde looked up to a pair of hands outstretched before her, a silent invitation of support, an offer without any pressure. Slowly, intentionally, she watched Olivia's earnest eyes as she allowed their fingers to connect. The older woman gave her detective a melancholy smile, nodding her head as both women decided to no longer let it fester.

"—I understand."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much for your comments and follows! I really appreciate all of you! Please feel free to drop a comment and let me know what you like about this story or any other thoughts you may have. If you would like to connect via social media, my Instagram/twitter is @faceinbud.   
> Here is chapter 2! Hope you like it! I will say that this chapter is quite a bit darker than the first one, so just a heads up there.  
> I need to add both a disclaimer that I do not own SVU or its characters and a trigger warning for non-detailed discussion of kidnapping and rape.

Dirt in the Carpet  
Chapter 2 

“Mama?”

Both cops turned to the sound of a soft pitter-pattering against the linoleum flooring. Jesse was standing outside the bedroom door, tears running down her face. Amanda shot up off the couch and knelt in front of her daughter, wiping the streaks from her face. “Jesse. What happened, baby?”

The child looked up at her mother with the same piercing blue eyes she had, her lip quivering fearfully. “I had a bad dream.”

“Oh, sweetie. Come here.” Amanda lifted her up and began walking towards the couch. “Come sit with me and Olivia, and let’s talk about it.” Benson scooted over on the couch so that Jesse could sit between the two adults. The blonde eyed Olivia for a moment. Jesse didn’t very often have bad dreams, or at least, Amanda realized, a lump forming in her throat, she hadn’t known about them. “Can you tell us what happened in your nightmare?”

Jesse nodded dutifully, abandoning her position between the two cops in favor of climbing onto her mother’s lap, straddling her and lying her head against her. “You went to work, and you didn’t come home.”

Amanda’s heart throbbed in her chest. Jesse had always been a resilient child, but the detective worried her early struggles would affect her later down the line. Apparently, that time had come. This was the worst possible outcome, according to Amanda. All she had wanted was to spare her girls the turbulent childhood she’d endured, and it felt like the more she fought against it, the worse it became. A barely there father. Revolving door boyfriends. A drug addict grandfather. A mother who’s never home. A new brother/cousin—how confusing must that have been for the four-year-old? Rollins felt like an absolute mess, like she was ruining her daughter’s life before it even began. At least Billie was still young, and as she slept soundly in her carrier, being diligently guarded by Frannie, Amanda let herself be grateful for small mercies. “Jess, have you had that dream before?”

She nodded against her mother’s chest, squeezing her tighter, a new set of tears taking the journey down her flushed cheeks. “When you didn’t come home. You didn’t come home ‘til the morning.” She took a shuddering breath, pulling away from the other blonde for a moment, two sets of blue eyes meeting, both of them waiting for the other to do something. It was Jesse who spoke first. “I’m okay, Mama. I just wanted to see you,” she whispered, mesmerized by her mother’s features, the fingers of a tiny hand reaching up to wipe away the lone tear that had escaped the prison of her tear ducts. Moments later, the little girl went back to hugging her mother, holding her as tight as her little arms and legs could. She never wanted to let go.

Amanda returned the tight embrace, rubbing circles into Jesse’s back. “Oh, baby, I’m right here. I’m right here, Jesse.” She opened her mouth to say something else, to promise her something, but she didn’t know what to tell the trembling child. Realistically, she couldn’t assure the little girl she wasn’t going anywhere because she knew she could be taken out by a perp at any moment. She knew there were more Frank Buccis in the world, more Charles Pattons, and Amanda’s safety was never guaranteed. The detective hated empty promises, loathed them with the fire of a million suns, because she had been placated by more than her share when she was young—

"I’m gonna leave your father."

"We’re gonna get outta here, Mandy Jo."

"We’re a team, the three of us. You, me, and Kimmy."

Empty promises were the same as lies. And they were just as poisonous to the soul. Jesse deserved better. But Amanda didn’t know what she could offer her.

Olivia noticed the falter in her detective’s voice, the way she’d interrupted herself before she began speaking, and the tears that were now falling from her own crystal blues. The SVU captain was struck by the similarities between the mother and daughter. The way they both struggled to hold back tears. The way they comforted each other before they asked for comfort themselves. Until Billie had come along, it was just the two of them, but Jesse reveled in the role of big sister, of protector, of leader. She got these qualities from her resilient mother, but Amanda didn’t want her to feel like she needed to take on those jobs. She was barely in preschool, for goodness sakes!

Amanda opened her mouth once more, platitudes forming on her lips the same way they had formed on her mother’s, but she couldn’t bring herself to utter them aloud. She felt Olivia’s hand rest on her shoulder, and then a soft voice penetrated the silence. "May I?" 

The detective shifted her focus from her daughter’s quiet crying to her boss’s gentle expression. "Sure."

"You know, Jesse,” the brunette began slowly as the little girl’s head lifted in response to her Aunt Olivia’s words, “when I have a nightmare, the first thing I like to do is remind myself that it wasn’t real, and I do that by telling myself what is real. You did a very good job, coming to find your Mama after your dream because now you know that she is home." 

Of course Olivia had nightmares. Sometimes Amanda forgot that even though Liv didn’t often speak of her own dirt, it didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Everyone in SVU suffered through bad dreams. But not everyone in SVU had nightmares that became realities. Amanda and Olivia shared this experience. 

Amanda hadn’t processed any of it. She’d hardly worked through previous traumas before Bucci decided to barge into Dr. Hanover’s office, and now they were just piling on—like dust, like dirt. If Amanda had never processed adverse experiences in a healthy way, how would Jesse be able to do so? The child was stuck—without a decent role model, Amanda told herself—with a pile of dirt accumulating in the carpet of her own life. God, the detective needed to deal with her shit.

Most recently, the ordeal with Frank Bucci had brought up so much for the blonde. Like Amanda, he was a single parent, raising two girls practically on his own. And as a cop, he already had a painful understanding of the evil that existed in the world, waiting patiently for the right time to strike. He did what he thought he had to do to save his girls. Every time she found herself empathizing with the man, Amanda forced herself to rid her mind of those thoughts. Olivia was also a single parent, but she didn’t routinely resort to violence to solve her problems. Amanda had two girls too, and Bucci had intended on keeping her from them for as long as it took to charge Getz. There was no excuse for what he did, Rollins told herself, knowing they were the same words any therapist worth their salt would say to her. The only person to blame for what Bucci did was Bucci.

Right?

And when the topic of blame was brought up—oh, boy. Speaking of blame, who was to blame for what happened to her in Atlanta? Looking at Olivia’s compassionate eyes as she continued to soothe Jesse, Amanda could almost hear the words that her captain—then sergeant—had so gingerly spoken to her in the brunette’s office: “Can you go back to that detective you were five years ago and feel compassion for her?”

Now it had been nine years.

Nine years.

Why did it feel like yesterday? Why could she still feel the blood trickling down her face? Why could she still hear his voice, see his smirk? Why could she still feel his hands, his—

Stop! This wasn’t productive. Jesse needed her.

“Why do you have bad dreams, Olivia?” 

The innocence in the child’s voice brought Amanda back to the present, but only for a moment. The tone, the cadence, the wet and wide eyes that accompanied the question brought the detective back to something she’d asked her mother on more than one occasion.

“Why do you let Daddy hit you, Mama?”

If only she’d known.

If only she’d known…

“We all have bad dreams sometimes, Jesse.” Amanda found herself thanking her lucky stars that her vacuum cleaner of a friend and captain was there to talk to the little girl. She hadn’t known just how fresh these wounds were. If she’d known, she never would have accepted this invitation. “We dream about things that make us happy and things that make us sad. Sometimes we dream about things that make us feel scared.”

“But why?”

Olivia sighed. “I don’t really know, Jess. But what I do know is your Mama is with you, and I am with you, and you are safe.”

“Okay,” the little girl replied sleepily. The older cop tucked a strand of Jesse’s hair behind her ear, and the child yawned after a moment.

“Thank you,” Amanda whispered to the other woman, rocking Jesse from side to side as she began to relax.

Benson offered her an earnest nod. “Of course.”

When she’d fallen asleep, Amanda stood up, cradling Jesse’s head against her chest. “I’ll be right back,” she whispered. She returned a few minutes later, kneeling in front of Billie’s carrier and brushing a few strands of wispy hair away from her eyes. Frannie gave a quick lick to the back of her hand, and then the blonde sat back down. “Noah and Mason are still asleep.”

“Good,” the captain said. She watched her friend rake her fingers through her hair, staring intently at Billie’s gentle breathing, and after almost five minutes of silence, she couldn’t let Amanda stew in her own thoughts any longer. “Alright, vroom, vroom. I need you to talk to me, Amanda.”

Amanda feigned ignorance. “Talk to you about what?”

The brunette gestured to the other woman’s head. “Whatever is going on in there.”

She held on to her stoic façade for several more seconds, but it was no match for Olivia’s stubborn yet kind gaze. Amanda fell apart all at once, her hands coming up to conceal her watery eyes. After the elevator with Carisi, she had pledged not to do this again. But there was something about Olivia that—well, she said it herself. Vroom, vroom.

For a little while, she just cried, allowing the emotions of the past several months to catch up with her. Getz. Bucci. Ivy and Milly. Kim. Mason. Patton. Always Patton. She hadn’t consciously felt any of it, burying each instinctive attempt on her brain’s part to process with a casual dismissal. 

“I’m just tired.”

“It’s been a long case.”

“I need some coffee.”

Excuses. Amanda had an “Excuse-Maker 5000” ever on alert, ready to spit out a response to any situation. Did she have a nightmare? “Well, you had ice cream for dinner, Mandy Jo. What did you expect?” the condescending figure in her head that sounded suspiciously like her mother would reply. She hadn’t slept in three days? “Girlie, you gotta stop drinkin’ that coffee.” Did she feel hopelessly and completely alone? “We’re a team, Mandy Jo.”

A team.

Jesse. 

“God, I think I do need to go back to therapy,” she wept softly, realizing the enormity of the burden she had been bearing. “I just don’t know where to start.”

“Well, then, let me help you. I’ve been referring surviv—” She cut herself off, deciding a more broad term would make Amanda feel less self-conscious. “—people to therapists in the area for more than two decades. I can come up with a few providers I think you’ll mesh well with, and then we can do some more research together. I’ll even come with you to your first appointment.”

“Liv, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I insist.” At Amanda’s skeptical eyes, she amended her statement. “As long as you’re okay with me doing it.” 

The blonde relented, nodding her head. There was something so incredibly inviting about being cared for in this way. Olivia was holding her accountable, and not with screaming and hitting and threats, but with patience and compassion and the most gentle tough love she’d ever known. Amanda had never really had a friend before. She’d been a friend—that was easy. But having a friend, feeling safe going to someone with the icky stuff—the dirt—was unknown territory. “Thank you. My girls and Mason deserve a fully functioning parent.”

“I know you want to do this for your kids, and I think that’s very noble of you, Amanda, but can you please take a second to think about also doing this for yourself? You deserve healthy coping mechanisms. You deserve to work through your trauma, your dirt,” she added, remembering the woman’s earlier metaphor. “I’m not saying it will be easy, but it will be possible. And it will definitely be worth it. For you and for your children.”

“I just feel like I suck at everything,” she eventually lamented, as usual, finding an excuse to hold back. “Don’t wake up the children, Mandy Jo,” her mother scolded.

“Amanda, no. I will not allow you to say that.” Olivia was being uncharacteristically forceful, but that’s exactly what the younger woman needed in this moment. A counterpart to her mother’s contrived maternal care. Liv’s fiercely compassionate demand sent Ol’ Beth Ann Rollins packing, at least for the time being, which was more than the blonde believed she deserved. “You’re a great mom,” Amanda’s captain continued, shaking her head when the detective scoffed in disbelief. “You are. Jesse is smart, inquisitive, kind, and she’s strong, just like her Mama. Billie and Mason are going to be just as amazing.”

“How do you know that?” Amanda looked up at her boss, sniffing quietly as she made sure the baby and the dog hadn’t been disturbed by her outburst.

“Because I see how much you love all three of them, how much you’ve sacrificed for them, how much they love you. I know you’re afraid of becoming your mother. But you’re not her. And your babies will not suffer like you did. Look.” Olivia pulled out her phone and pulled up her most recent photo, showing it to Amanda. “I thought you might want to have this candid.” A fresh wave of tears came cascading over her cheeks as she looked at the photo of her daughter tenderly looking up at her as they wiped each other’s tears. The little sneak had captured the picture while Jesse and Amanda had been absorbed in each other. “Did you ever look at your mother like that?”

All she could do was shake her head in the negative. “Well, at least I have that,” she sighed tearfully. God, she was acting so pathetic, practically fishing for compliments at this point. 

She still wasn’t expecting the next phrase to come out of Olivia’s mouth. "Amanda, you're an amazing detective."

No one had ever overtly complimented her police work before, not without an ulterior motive. Her drooping shoulders lifted instantly, and she looked Liv in the eye for the first time since she returned from Noah’s bedroom. "You think so?"

She nodded vigorously. "I know so.” The captain leaned forward, searching for eye contact in turbulent crystal waters. “Who do you think put in for your promotion?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Let me know what you think about this one, guys! Thanks for reading! The last chapter of “In the First Degree” is almost done, and it should be up in a few days.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much for your comments and follows! I really appreciate all of you! Please feel free to drop a comment and let me know what you like about this story or any other thoughts you may have. If you would like to connect via social media, my Instagram/twitter is faceinbud.  
> Here is the final chapter! Hope you like it!  
> I need to add both a disclaimer that I do not own SVU or its characters and a trigger warning for non-detailed discussion of kidnapping and rape.

Dirt in the Carpet  
Chapter 3

"It's barely seven a.m," Amanda muttered to herself about a week later when an abrupt knock on her apartment door forced her to fully wake up earlier than she'd planned to. It had been another night of watching the time on her cell phone change at an achingly slow pace. Seconds were not supposed to last that long. Billie was a relatively good sleeper at this point, so it was the detective's own fault she'd only gotten three hours of sleep.

"Who that?" Mason questioned as the cop rose from her seat at the kitchen table.

Jesse directed him back to his abandoned pancake, even sneakily pouring some more syrup on it. "It's work," the little blonde surmised as her mother opened the door. "Eat your food," she commanded, before turning to Billie in her highchair and nudging a few large chunks of banana in her direction.

Amanda opened the door to find Olivia standing on the other end. "Captain," the younger woman greeted in surprise, genuine panic setting in. It was only seven. What time was she due at the precinct? Did she have to be in court? Would an angry Carisi be moments behind Benson? She didn't think she had the strength to deal with both of them. "Am I…uh," she spluttered, "am I late?"

"Oh, no, Amanda," the brunette instantly assured her subordinate, her brow raising in speculation as she observed the other woman heave an exaggerated sigh of a relief. "I didn't mean to scare you." There had been a time, not too long ago, that the idea of being late wouldn't have caused a ball of nausea to roll its way up her esophagus. In Atlanta, she often ducked in at the very last minute, something she did purposefully to avoid every male commanding officer. And all of her commanding officers were male. It was usually counterproductive, as the write up or verbal reprimand that would follow often required prolonged contact with the men who made her uncomfortable—the type of discomfort that spreads from your toes to your stomach to your throat, the tips of your fingers, and even your ears, the hair on each goose-bumped piece of skin standing tall in alert. Amanda used to try to be late. And it was a habit that took some time to let go of. But as she learned that what she generally received upon arriving late in New York was a concerned look and worried eyes—Olivia Benson's eyes when they looked at you like that were something to behold—she concluded that it was just easier to report to work on time, lest she fall victim to those eyes. Sometimes she thought it would be easier to take Patton's wandering eyes than Liv's gentle ones. At least Patton's were predictable, and she knew she could survive it.

Shake it off, Rollins.

"I just thought you and I could get some coffee before we all meet in the bullpen." The offer was innocent enough, but Amanda knew what was behind those unassuming orbs. Benson had no doubt been compiling her list of therapists, and today she wanted to share what she had found.

Amanda rattled off the first excuse that occurred to her. "Sienna isn't here yet, Liv," she feigned disappointment, opening the door slightly further to present the evidence of three children, all of whom would be left unattended if the detective went with her boss for coffee.

As soon as Jesse laid eyes on Olivia, she leapt from her chair and launched herself into the woman's arms. "Olivia!"

The blonde watched as the two collided, the captain lifting the little girl from the ground and giving her a hug. "Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?"

"Uh huh!" Mason's attention was garnered by the commotion, Frannie was barking, and even Billie began squirming excitedly as she palmed banana in each hand. Everyone in this house was excited to see Olivia Benson.

And Amanda would be lying if she had claimed the other woman didn't have a similar effect on her. Having a friend was uncomfortable, and she didn't know if she'd ever get used to being held accountable in a gentle way, but she knew the fate of her morning was sealed as soon as her daughter had laid eyes on the brunette. "You're welcome to have some pancakes with us, and then we can go once Sienna gets here."

"That sounds great."

Once Sienna arrived, Amanda kissed each child and grabbed her bag, exiting the apartment with Olivia. Soon, they entered a local coffee shop, quickly emerging with their drinks. "It's colder than I expected," she commented as they walked back out into the crisp morning, grateful to "Ten minutes ago Amanda" for thinking to bring a sweater. Sometimes, she told herself, she had her shit together.

"One of the two reasons I thought coffee might be a good idea," Liv explained, pulling her own sweater tighter around her body.  
Rollins turned to look at her captain as she led them down the street. "And the other reason?" She wrapped her lips around the lid of the warm cup, appreciating the initial burn of the liquid and sighing as the aromatic beverage settled over her senses and trailed a blazing path down her throat. Amanda knew why her boss had arranged this coffee date, and though she was beginning to believe that the older woman did indeed enjoy her company, this morning absolutely had another purpose.

Olivia knew her detective would prefer to skip the pleasantries. She sighed heavily before taking a sizable gulp of her coffee. "Her name is Jennifer Pittman, and she's a LCSW, a Licensed Clinical—"

"—Social Worker, I know," Amanda finished, chucking her still half-empty (half-full?) cup of coffee into a nearby trashcan as they strode down the city block. The last thing the woman who'd struggled to keep her heartrate below one hundred beats per minute for longer than a few seconds at a time needed was a stimulant. "I've met plenty of social workers in my day, trust."

"I've referred lots of survivors to her. She has almost twenty years' experience, and I think she'd be a good match for you."

"Oh, God, Liv." She let her fingers massage still sleepy eyelids as she grimaced, willing this moment to be nothing but yet another intrusive thought. Not that those were enjoyable, but at least they ended.

Benson knew that the process of selecting and then going to see a therapist would be difficult for Amanda, but she hadn't imagined just how overwhelmed she would feel. She reached out to comfort her before pulling her arm back. She realized that she had no idea what was actually upsetting the woman that walked next to her, and touching her could make it worse. Liv never wanted to take her choice away. "What? What's wrong, 'Manda?"

"It just feels like GA, goin' in to see a trauma therapist—'Hi, I'm Amanda, and I'm a rape victim.' I don't think I can do that, Captain. I don't think I can say the words out loud, even now."

A proud smile played on Olivia's lips as Amanda spoke to her. She was capable of more than she realized. "You just did."

Rollins shook her head. Olivia didn't get it. This didn't count. Anything she said to her boss didn't count. The safety that surrounded the longtime SVU cop in an aura of light didn't exist anywhere else. It wasn't naturally occurring in any other environment. Even with twenty years' experience, this Jennifer Pittman person wasn't Oliva. She wasn't a vacuum cleaner, Amanda thought, chuckling at herself. "Yeah, but not like—like, for real." And there she was, just looking at her again. Amanda swore, if she didn't know any better, she would have assumed she had something in her teeth. "I couldn't admit it in therapy, I don't think." Not to someone that wasn't Olivia, the blonde wisely decided to keep to herself.

"That's part of the process, yes, but no sexual assault specialist is going to force you to put any labels on your trauma, certainly not to start off with." When she didn't reply, Liv looked up to see they were arriving at the station. "Look," she said, though it didn't sound like an order, "I'm not asking you to see this person every week for the rest of your life. I'm asking for you to go to one appointment. One," she stressed. "And I will sit in the waiting area, and I will hold space for you in any way you need me to. You're one of the most compassionate detectives I've ever met." Amanda knew Olivia had no idea what kind of weight a statement like that held, but the blonde was almost breathless for a few moments, grateful that the other woman resumed speaking after an extended pause, her way of letting her words set in. "You deserve the compassion you afford every other survivor. You deserve to heal. But I know you well enough to say with absolute certainty that if left to your own devices, you would take all of this—all of your dirt—to the grave. I can't in my right mind let you do that. You deserve better, Amanda."

Amanda absorbed her boss's words, aware beyond any shadow of a doubt that no one had ever spoken to her with so much respect in her entire life. Benson actually admired her, and the blonde felt like she could live a thousand lifetimes and never truly understand why. "I…" She wasn't sure what she could say that would adequately express her feelings in the moment. Her and Olivia had so much in common. Turbulent childhoods. Single motherhood. They were both survivors in one way or another. They both saw the worst of humanity day in and day out, and they went home to the best of it. There was a connection there, an empathy. And though neither woman really knew what it meant, they were each desperate to hold on to it. Because lonely was the worst thing to be in this world.

"All I want," the older woman concluded, "is for you to read her webpage. Really think about it," she implored, giving Amanda those eyes again, "and then tell me yes or no. I'm more than willing to respect your answer, whatever it is."

Amanda didn't think she'd ever feel ready to return to therapy, but she trusted Olivia with her life. She had never steered her wrong, and even if she wasn't sure things would get better, the blonde knew that she wasn't doing so well at the moment, and something needed to change.

Later that night, as she cuddled with Noah prior to bedtime, Benson received a text. It said only, "Yes."

On the day of her appointment, Olivia picked her up in the morning. The plan was to go straight to work after, but Liv had scheduled Fin as well as Kat in order to ensure they would have enough manpower even if Amanda didn't feel up to enveloping herself in SVU after her first therapy session.

Amanda's leg bounced anxiously in the waiting room, her fingers playing absently with each other. When she was called back, the younger woman's heart leapt into her throat and her vision blurred. "Bucci's in Rikers," she whispered to herself, probably looking like a crazy person. Still, she said it again. "Bucci's in Rikers."

"Hi, Amanda. I'm Jen," a friendly woman greeted, reaching out to shake the cop's hand. "Do you want to come back with me?"

She looked at Olivia, the woman offering her an encouraging smile. Amanda prepared herself to answer a shit ton of yes or no questions as she nodded, the hallmark of this kind of therapy being giving power to the survivor. "Would you prefer I closed the door or left it open?" the therapist asked calmly when they arrived to what was likely her office.

"Oh—o-open," she stuttered, realizing she did indeed have a preference. Maybe Olivia would be able to hear her calling for help if the door remained open.

They went through introductions quickly, and Amanda could tell that Jen was extremely talented when it came to building rapport with clients, and it occurred to the blonde that had she been any other client, she would have melted into the relaxed atmosphere of the room. But why did she feel the need to fight so hard? Why did every kindness feel like a trick? Life was one big quid-pro-quo for Amanda. She didn't deserve anything unless she gave something in return. In Jen's office, though, it didn't feel that way. She knew the social worker wouldn't ask her to get into the nitty gritty immediately, and this would likely be their easiest session together, but the fact that Amanda was even thinking about having another session spoke volumes. Maybe there was more than one vacuum cleaner in the world. Maybe she just needed to be open to it.

But Lord, was she tired by the end of the hour, the urge to retreat into her cocoon returning. "It's gonna take more than one session, 'Manda," she heard the voice in her head remind her. This time, though the southern drawl behind the words remained, she also registered compassion, empathy, and understanding.

It was her own voice.

The brunette greeted her in the lobby, standing up to assess her detective's body language and overall status. "Hey, how'd it go?"

"Oh, it was fine." Amanda prepared to maintain the status quo, to go about business as usual.

"Emotion is weakness," Beth Ann's incessant southern drawl fought back with a condescending click of the tongue. "Be careful, Mandy Jo. No one out there genuinely gives a rat's behind about you," the voice continued.

When Olivia expected more, the younger woman let strands of yellow hair conceal the blush on her face. It felt like everyone in her life either looked at her like she was going to break or like they wanted to be the one to break her. The appointment had actually gone well, better than Amanda had expected, but she didn't want to get her hopes up for further sessions (and more, she didn't want to get Liv's hopes up), so she toned down her optimism, settling for a noncommittal response. "Therapy is therapy, I guess," she shrugged, her blue eyes downcast in avoidance of the captain's insistent and compassionate gaze.

Olivia saw right through the façade, as she always did, but where Amanda expected to find judgement, she found understanding. A careful hand came to rest on her shoulder, and Amanda couldn't resist meeting deeply feeling chocolate orbs any longer. It was like magic. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's gonna take more than one session," the voice inside her mind repeated, shushing Mama Rollins's attempt to be heard louder than the detective's own intuition. The blonde sighed, and she resigned herself to the fact that the decision to speak had been made for her, something that ordinarily would have had her reduced to a panicking blob on the floor. But with Olivia, what as a general rule felt like a forceful squeeze, a malevolent power invading the recesses of her mind, now felt like a gentle coaxing, a respectful longing, a whisper carrying with it the promise of unimaginable grace.

Vroom, vroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I really hope you enjoyed this story! I just posted the last chapter of In the First Degree, so if you haven't read that story yet, I encourage you to do so. It's my favorite thing I've ever, ever written.  
> As for what I'm writing next, I plan on posting a series of one-shots that exist in the In the First Degree universe (things like Amanda going to therapy, the day they first met the twins, Olivia finding out about Alex, etc.) So if you're interested in that, please feel free to make requests. The other thing is I have an idea for an Alex/Olivia centric story that would take place around the episode "Guilt" in season 3, so let me know if you're interested in that idea. In the meantime, if you haven't read Something Good and its one-shots yet, that's also an option.  
> I would love to hear your final thoughts about this story.  
> All the thanks in the world,  
> Gabby

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hope you guys liked the first chapter. There will be a total of three parts. Chapter 13 of In the First Degree should be up by the end of the week!  
> -Gabby


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